


In My Arms

by Jaci4Narnia (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Past Child Abuse, Punishment, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:14:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23656675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Jaci4Narnia
Summary: Sherlock is only six years old when he is kidnapped and sold to a wealthy man who has bought him as a pet for his young son, John. John treats Sherlock like a friend and brother and the two grow very close. A young Sherlock/young John fanfiction
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46





	In My Arms

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoy this. I'm new to this kind of stuff so please restrain your negative comments. :)

“Little freak!” the guard screamed, striking the small boy over the head.

“Ow! P-Please, don’t hurt me!” the child cried, holding up his hands. Tears and snot streamed down his cheeks. He scuttled to get away from his attacker, crawling on bleeding knees. Fingers wrapped around his neck, yanking him backwards. He was flung against the wall, choking and gasping for air. “I-I didn’t do anything wrong!” he shrieked, muscles tensing in preparation for the next blow. “I want my mummy! Where’s my mummy!” He doubled over, choking on his own tears. He felt like throwing up-spewing the little food he had in his stomach all over his attacker. 

“Your mummy is dead, brat,” the guard said, reaching down and grabbing the boy by the shirt collar. “And I had the pleasure of killing her myself. Now, stop crying or I’ll gag you, do you hear me?” 

“M-Mummy! Y-You killed her?” The boy’s voice rose to a shriek. He wriggled in the guard’s grasp, kicking out with his legs and clawing at the man’s arms with his nails. “Daddy! Daddy! Come! Help me!” 

“Daddy’s not here to save you, is he, brat?” the guard mocked, his eyes glinting with greed. “Now shut up or I’ll do it for you!” He threw the boy down to the ground and pinned him with one foot, enjoying the helpless way the boy flailed around, trying to free himself.  
“W-What did you do to them?” the boy cried, his vision blurred from his tears. 

The guard brought his fist down on the boy’s head, momentarily stunning the child. “I said, shut up!” He grabbed a fistful of the tangled, black curls and yanked the boy’s head up. “If you even make a peep, I’ll gag you and beat you until you’re senseless. Do you understand?” The boy nodded frantically, his eyes rolling back into his skull with fear. “Good, now hold still!” 

He couldn’t fight as his clothing was torn away from him. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks as he endured this humiliation. Cold air met his exposed skin and he shivered. I want Mummy… Daddy… Myc… Redbeard, he thought, his entire body trembling. 

The next moment, pain like nothing he’d ever experienced before rippled through his body. He tried to hold back the scream that bubbled up, but to no avail. 

“I said, be quiet, you little brat!” the guard screamed. 

Flashing lights…

A loud voice…

Pain…

The taste of blood…

He closed his eyes and laid his head down on the cool ground. 

Please let this be a nightmare. Please. 

Gentle hands were probing at him… lifting him from the ground. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” a kind voice said. “Shh.. shh… it’s alright.”  
*****************************************

Not so far away, another boy, just a year older than our previous character, was celebrating his ninth birthday with balloons, ice-cream, games, and friends. John Hamish Watson, the only son of prominent nobility, Lord Hamish Watson and Lady Elizabeth Watson, sat in the parlor, half-buried in a sea of wrapping paper and balloons. Hamish and his wife stood in the doorway, lovingly watching as their son tore into his gifts, giving triumphant yells as he held up each treasured item. “Our little boy is growing up,” Hamish remarked, brushing his wife’s cheek with a tender kiss. “It seems like just yesterday he was a tiny, red-faced baby in our arms.” 

“I know… the years have gone by so fast,” Elizabeth replied softly. “Oh, Hamish, did you get the gift?” 

Hamish nodded, his eyes twinkling. “I have a confession to make, though, Elizabeth,” he said, smiling. “I didn’t get the one we were thinking about.. I just saw this guy… doing an awful thing to the poor thing and I had to intervene. It’s young, real young. Probably younger than John. There wasn’t much information in its file. But it was cheap and I think, with some cleaning up, it’ll turn out just right for our John. You know how John is, always wanting to heal things and make things better.” 

“I’m not shocked, Hamish,” Elizabeth replied. “That sounds just like you. Now, he’s on the last present. You’d better get ours.” 

“Of course!” Hamish bustled away, humming under his breath. 

“Johnny!” Elizabeth called, stepping into the room. “Sit up on the couch. Daddy and I have one last present for you!” 

“Yay!” John exclaimed, clapping his hands in delight. “Come on, mates!” He gestured to his friends to take a seat next to him. “Mummy and Daddy always get the best presents!” 

“Alright, close your eyes,” Elizabeth said, catching Hamish’s eye. “It’s a surprise!” 

John squeezed his eyes shut and clasped his hands together, shaking with excitement. 

He heard some grunting and wire scraping against wire. 

He thought he heard a whimper-like that of a puppy, and he nearly squealed with delight. Had Daddy and Mummy got him a puppy? 

Something was placed in his lap. It felt light… but bony. He felt it with his hands. His hands met with soft locks-curls. He gently tugged on these and felt the thing in his lap twitch. “Daddy, can I open my eyes?” he begged.  
“Alright!” 

John opened his eyes. 

A pair of clear blue eyes stared back at him. 

There was a boy on his lap. Small, skinny, with unruly, black curls. His face was thin, smudged with dirt and blood. There were dark circles under his eyes. He wore only a shredded tank top and some boxers that were held up with a piece of dirty string. There was a silver collar around his neck and the tag read: Property of John Hamish Watson. 

“Do you like your new pet, darling?” Elizabeth asked, stroking her son’s hair. 

John gazed at the boy. “He’s mine?” he asked incredulously. His friends had dogs, cats, hamsters, and horses for pets but none of them had a boy! John wrapped his arms around the boy and pulled him close. He felt his new pet tremble in his arms and realized that it was probably scared. “Don’t worry, Pet. My name is John. I’m going to take care of you,” John reassured the poor thing. “It’s nice to meet you.”  
The pet lowered his head, tears trembling on the edges of his lashes. 

“Respond when your master speaks to you, slave,” Elizabeth said sharply, pinching the pet’s arm. 

Slave? What was a slave? Was it a kind of pet? “Don’t hurt him, Mummy,” John pleaded. “He’s scared.” He ran a hand through the thick, dark curls. The pet stiffly leaned into his embrace and buried its nose in John’s shoulder. 

“He likes you!” one of John’s friends exclaimed. 

John smiled. “Of course he does. He’s my pet. Aren’t you?” 

The blue eyes welled with tears and the lithe body melted against John’s body. 

“Does he have a name, Mummy?” John asked. A million names ran through his head. Lucky…. Sammy…. Charlie…. But, no, none of those names suited his beautiful pet. “Have you got a name, pet?” he asked the creature in his lap. When the pet did not reply, John frowned. “All pets have names. Don’t you have one?” 

There was no reply. 

Elizabeth raised her hand to strike the pet but John covered his creature with his body. “Don’t, Mummy.” He stroked his pet’s cheek, in an effort to calm it down. “It’s alright, pet. We’ll find a name for you…. A good name…” He looked around the room, searching for something that might give him ideas for a name. Then, his eyes rested on the black, stuffed dog sitting on the mantel-piece nearby-his favorite stuffed animal. “Oh! I know!” he exclaimed, his eyes shining. “I’m going to name you Sherlock!" 

The pet lifted his head, his blue eyes a mixture of confusion and fear. 

“Do you like that name? Sherlock?” John asked. 

The pet wriggled closer to John and wrapped his arms around his neck. “Yes,” it whispered. 

John hugged his pet. “I’m so glad…. We’re friends, aren’t we?” 

He felt the head nod… the curls brush against his neck.


End file.
